


The Pros and Cons of Breathing

by scvlpvnk



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, Peterick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-18 01:45:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7294546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scvlpvnk/pseuds/scvlpvnk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story written for FOBCC, inspired by the song "The Pros and Cons of Breathing".<br/>Also, my first story on here.<br/>Don't read if easily triggered!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Pros and Cons of Breathing

His stomach was filled with butterflies everytime he saw Pete.  
There was something so magical about those chocolate brown eyes surrounded by caramel skin. The black hair framed his face perfectly, and all the nuances of brown and black made his pearly white teeth pop.  
He could watch Pete play bass all day, especially on stage. The jumps, the kicks, the headbanging, it was all swift movements that basically put him into a trance.  
The sweat trailing down Pete’s forehead, to his jaw and then whatever stupid fucking shirt he was wearing that day made Patrick drool slightly, and when he kissed Patrick’s neck he was in bliss.  
He sung Pete’s words into the mic, closing eyes to concentrate on hitting the right notes and playing the right chords.  
And then Pete was there. Up against his neck, whispering things he didn’t mean as he left soft kisses.  
Patrick tried to ignore it, he really did. He didn’t want his breath to become heavier, shakier, he didn’t want to sweat just a tad more, and he didn’t want to start shaking, but the anxiety from standing in front of 4000 people plus Pete kissing his neck was just too much. As he stopped singing, he stepped to the side, not looking at Pete. He sung his heart out of his chest, out of his throat, wishing the butterflies would go the same way.  
As they finished the song, the lights went out and they went off stage as their fans cheered like crazy. He was panting and sweating, and his clothes were just a little too tight as they got backstage, and holy shit he needed a shower.  
As they high fived, he smiled cheerily as he thought about being able to go home. Ashlee came over, hugging Pete tightly, her big stomach bumping into his back. He just smiled and hugged back, kissing her.  
Patrick excused himself as he planned how he was going to kill her. Or Pete. Or himself.  
Those lips had been all his a few minutes ago. Those lips had been whispering dirty, dirty things to him just a few minutes ago, and now she took them from him.  
She stole his Pete. Ashlee was sweet, but Pete was his. Pete was his teenage crush. Pete was his first love. He’d taught Patrick so much, done so much for him that he could never repay him.  
And she’d just walked in there and taken him. Her with the fit body and pretty face. Her.  
She’d taken his Pete.  
Patrick undressed, stepping into a shower stall and cleaning himself.  
And now that fucking baby was going to come and ruin everything. Pete wouldn’t be able to hang out with him anymore, and even this fucking kid would be more important to Pete than Patrick was.  
He stepped out of the shower, dried off and got dressed. He then called a cab and went home.  
He sat at his desk, taking a pen, a few papers and some envelopes.  
He began writing.  
“Hey mom and dad.  
I’m sorry you wasted all those money on me and my music and vacations and such.  
I love you both.”  
He stuffed that in an envelope and wrote “Parents”, then took a new piece of paper, and that carried on for about an hour. He finally took the last piece of paper.  
“Hey Pete.  
I’m dissapointed, I’m angry and I’m so fucking upset.  
I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you. I have no idea why I let myself think that I had a chance with you.  
I know you’ve got Ashlee, and that’s great for you, I guess. And you’re getting that fucking baby. She’ll give birth in, what, two weeks?  
Congrats. You have no idea how much I want to watch that kid grow up, how much I want to see them, how much I want to get to know them, how much I want to support you.  
But that’s not going to happen, and I can’t bear to see you forget about me.  
I guess I’m supposed to hate you, but that’s not gonna happen. I only hate myself.  
I hate myself for thinking that you could ever love me. That those neck-kisses and whispers ever meant something to you.  
When you see Ashlee, it’s like your whole world revolves around her, everything you care about is if she’s eaten enough, if she’s healthy, if she got enough sleep, if her stomach hurts. I know it’s wrong, but it makes me feel invisible. But, at the same time that’s probably for the best. I always feel like I’m ruining everything when I’m with you two, everytime I speak I regret it. I wish I was as invisible as you both make me feel.  
I wish I could hate you at least half as much as I hate myself. If I could hate you, I wouldn’t be dead by the time you read this.  
I’ll miss you, really. I love you.  
XO, Patrick”  
He messily stuffed the paper in the empty envelope, scribbling “Pete” on it, then getting up and stumbling slightly.  
He downed the rest of the whiskey, going to the bathroom. He took two bottles of painkillers out of his cabinet and walked out to the terrace.  
He sat down on his sunchair, looking at the sunset through lidded eyes and sighing, pleased.  
He poured the content of one of his bottles out into his hand, almost immediately throwing his head back and swallowing them, then doing the same with the other bottle.  
He leaned back, his mind getting fuzzy as he heard some birds sing and a car drive by.  
He slowly fell into a deep sleep.  
And he slept, and slept, and slept.  
And Pete cried, and cried, and cried.


End file.
